“Ms. Hastings!”
She was waiting on the airport curb for her cab when Joe Garcia hurried up beside her, shoving her latest novel in front of her with a pen. “We just pooled our spending money and bought this in the airport gift shop. Could you sign it for us?”
She grinned at the hulking group of young men surrounding her and she wrote a few lines then signed her name. She handed the book back to Joe, who held it up to read it.
“Wow. That’s some autograph, Ms. Hastings. Thanks!”
“Let me see!”
“Keep your paws off. You’ll get it dirty!”
“What’d she write?”
Sam smiled at them and said softly, “I wrote, ‘To a great bunch of guys, especially you, Joe, who is such a great fan of Chance’s. Your friend, Samantha Hastings’.”
She was about to move to the cab that had pulled up when one of the guys said, “You gonna be at the event tonight, Ms. Hastings? You can go with us.”
“I don’t have a ticket, boys. But thanks for the offer,” she smiled, as the cabbie started loading her bags into the trunk while she juggled the cat carrier and her bag.
“Hey, we can let her use Jim’s. He couldn’t get the cash together for the plane ticket.”
Joe fished in his camouflage jacket pocket and came up with a handful of tickets. He looked them over and then handed her one. “We were gonna try to sell it to get the cash back but Greg’s right. You can go with us, Ms. Hastings.”
Sam blinked at them as they waited eagerly for her answer. “Wow. That’s so sweet of you. But I really can’t take the ticket unless you let me pay for it.”
Joe flushed and shrugged. “If you really wanna. It was kinda expensive.”
“When does the event start?”
“Seven. We were gonna sit around the arena until it’s time to go in. We have some cash left for hot dogs and stuff,” one of the other boys piped up.
“Well, how about this. Since you were kind enough to invite me to join you tonight, how about I pay you for the ticket now and meet you all at the arena tonight?” She handed them three twenties, which they crowed over excitedly, and she waved as they headed for the shuttle area while she climbed into her cab.
The front desk clerk ran his finger down the list. “I have you listed as Mr. Braza’s guest, Ms. Hastings, in his suite.”
Sam blinked. “But I reserved a single of my own…”
“The hotel reservation was changed when Mr. Braza came down earlier.” He gazed at her, waiting. Sam sighed and shrugged. She might as well enjoy the free stay. She would sort out the sleeping accommodations later.
“That will be fine. I have my cat with me.”
“No problem at all, Ms. Hastings.” The man signaled a bellhop and she was whisked into the elevator with her luggage and her cat carrier as if she were royalty.
She tried to tip the bellhop as he left, but the man smiled and shook his head. “That’s all been taken care of, Ms. Hastings. Enjoy your stay.”
Once Snowball was nicely settled into the large bathroom with his food dish, water bowl, litter box and a few minutes of loving, she made her way back to the bedroom and tossed her largest case onto the king-sized bed. She searched for the proper attire for her excursion. She wasn’t sure what would be best to wear to the event, so she chose a pair of designer jeans and a tank top worn under a light cardigan sweater. She dragged her unruly mop up into a ponytail and pulled on her western boots. That should, hopefully, be casual enough to sit in a shrieking crowd of wrestling fans.
She glanced at her watch as she emerged from the bedroom into the sitting room. She explored his marvelous luxury apartment, hovering with a smile over a bowl of fruit on the glass-topped dining table. There was time for a meal, but since she wasn’t terribly hungry she opted for an apple and a huge orange rather than trying to find ingredients and fix anything more substantial to eat.
He lived in decadent luxury. Who’d have thought that high-class hotels had apartments for permanent residents? She sighed and munched the apple she’d chosen as she poked her head into the guest bedroom. She had an hour before she had to leave for the arena. She decided to move her stuff into the smaller bedroom, so Snowball could wander a bit and not be stuck in the marble-tiled bathroom.
By the time her things were neatly stacked in the guestroom and Snowball was curled up on her queen-sized bed, it was time to call for a taxi again. And despite her misgivings about being in a crowd of thousand of screaming people, she was actually looking forward to going. Besides, she would have her own bodyguards. A phalanx of strapping, tattooed, pierced and otherwise menacing-looking young guys who would see that she came to no harm. Right?
Stepping out of the taxi, she was instantly surrounded by the guys who had been watching for her arrival. She took the soft pink cylinders that Joe handed her and frowned. “What are these for?”
“Ear plugs. It’s gonna be real noisy in the arena. No acoustics in there. Just a lot of noise. You’ll be deaf after a couple of hours of that. We always bring them.”
“Thanks.” She tucked the earplugs into her jeans pocket and said, “Okay, entourage, it’s time to rumble.”
The arena was packed from top to bottom with twenty-five thousand roaring, yelling fans and she pressed the pink plugs into her ears gratefully as she followed the five young men down a long stairway from the mezzanine entrance to the seats blocked out at ringside. As she sank onto the chair they pointed out to her, between Greg and Joe, she was completely amazed by the number of people who were holding up colorful homemade signs and blowing horns and making all sorts of racket in a frenzied carnival atmosphere. Good Lord, it was wilder than New Orleans at Mardi Gras!
She shook her head. This was the kind of notoriety he knew. This screaming, raucous mob of frenzied wrestling fans who idolized him. One purple-haired woman had his likeness actually tattooed on her cheek. Others swore skimpy T-shirts with his black eyes glaring out of them. More than one girl of about thirteen was holding up a banner that read, “CB, will you marry me?”
Sam had never seen anything like it. She hadn’t exactly lived a sheltered existence but this type of adulation was surreal. When the ring announcer at last climbed the steps at the corner of the ring and bent to enter, the place went even wilder, if that were at all possible.
“Welcome, Chicago! We at the FPW are thrilled to be back with you once again. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy our main events tonight. We have two world championship diva matches for your enjoyment!” A roar went up. “And three FPW challenge events to see who gets a shot at FPW bad boy Chance Braza and his world title. The winners of all three matches will join up in a three-against-one free-for-all. Watch out, Braza, they’re coming after your title!”
Another couple of minutes of screaming and yelling and then it started with a few warm-up matches between those in the FPW who were still working their way up the steep road to mega-stardom, just to get the arena worked up for the main events. As Sam watched the antics in the ring, she wondered what on earth would possess grown men to behave in such a macho, embarrassing manner. There was enough testosterone running rampant in that ring to sink a battleship. Muscular, sweating bodies-totally denuded of body hair-and grunts of exertion and rage that would rival a herd of fighting bulls running the streets of Madrid before the
But when the divas climbed into the ring, Sam couldn’t believe what she saw. The women had enough raw silicone on board to make the guys’ tongues hang out and they were dressed in some pretty skimpy bits of clothing, which pleased the guys seated around her as they shouted for their favorites and gave bawdy advice to the women. If these were the females who worked arm in arm with David Chance, what the hell was he doing chasing
